A Pound of Flesh
by marylouleach
Summary: Sherlock wasn't the only Holmes that knew how to fake his death, a series of unrelated events fall like puzzle pieces into place. The road home can sometimes be hard to follow, no one knows this better than the Holmes brothers. John does what he does best he saves the life and Sherlock solves the crime, with a little help from a compulsive double 00 and a Quartermaster. no slash
1. Chapter 1 A Bad Day

**A/N: not beta'd read at your own risk. :)**

* * *

_**THE BAD DAY**_

Sherlock Holmes was having a bad day, he was out of tea. He turned to John's empty chair, and realization hit. John was gone, he was currently somewhere in Africa was it? Albania? Afghanistan-no not Afghanistan but some place that wasn't England, and it had a damned _A_ in it. It didn't matter, he wasn't there to make the consulting detective tea.

The dark haired young man opened his mouth to yell for his landlady only to recall the blasted woman was visiting her sister in Liverpool. So Tea would not appear suddenly to refill his cup, the last refill had been from Mrs. Hudson before she had left him.

He thought of sending a text to Greg, but decided against that, recalling the last response to a similar text just yesterday. Or had it been last week?

Glancing at the picture on the mantle and then back to his empty cup the consulting detective heaved a heavy sigh. "Mary, this is your fault. If you were here I wouldn't even need to ask for the tea, you or John would have already refilled it. " The blond woman only continued to smile from her place next to the skull. He didn't need to talk to the skull anymore; he had replaced the skull with John years ago. And then later when John had married and moved out the younger man had dug the skull back out and picked up as if no break ever occurred.

The skull thankfully was fairly understanding and continued as a sounding bored even if Sherlock absentmindedly referred to him as John every now and again. The skull was used to Sherlock's ravings and odd hours, the old bleached head actually enjoyed the time spent as a sounding board. Even if he didn't have vocal cords to reply with.

Unfortunately ever since that picture of that blond smiling woman appeared Sherlock Holmes no longer conversed with the old skull but instead with the blond lady. Mary was her name, and her photograph arrived shortly before doctor Watson had moved back in. Now the consulting detective only spoke out loud to Mary when he had no other audience.

Today was one of those days, things had gone very sad in the flat since Mary arrived in the form of a picture.

"Don't worry Mary he wont be gone very long." Sherlock's melancholy voice hung in the dimly lit room. "I miss him too."

Then the lonely violin's song pierced the air sounding like the lapping waters of a faraway lake on an abandoned shore, or perhaps the quiet waters of some far away coast.

Sherlock paused in mid stroke, "This is Mycroft's fault, he took that gun off of me. I was about to hide it in John's luggage before he left. The airport security would have put him on a no fly list and would have detained him. I could have made an anonymous tip and well we know that it would take a month or two to get everything ironed out and until then John would be here. Home, not off running around with that silly organization. Doctors without borders indeed!"

The smiling woman continued to look on, forever captured in time, her eyes dancing and mouth grinning. Sherlock imagined Mary was shaking her head, "Yes, Mary I agree. John isn't one to let that deter him once his mind is set. We just have to wait it out. Mycroft assures me that he has very reliable men watching out for our dear doctor."

Sherlock continued on with his melody closing his eyes, his blue silk robe noiselessly moving against him as he stood swaying near the unopened curtains.

Sherlock wondered once more at what could have been, he understood the concept of never being able to change the past. Somehow his brain had forgotten the logic in this, and just thinking of John's wife and unborn child made the consulting detective's chest hurt.

He couldn't help but wonder what the child would have looked like. What kind of Uncle would Sherlock have been? The younger Holmes liked to think he would have taught the girl everything she needed to know about chemistry and bacterium. This would have helped fake illnesses on those days she didn't wish to attend classes. Maybe she would like to learn the violin.

John always fell into a restful sleep when Sherlock played his violin. The younger Holmes could teach a child to play as soon as she learned to walk maybe even before. Music was good for learning and development in infants, why hadn't he deleted that fact?

_The violin's song followed the musician's thoughts slowly gaining pace and moving from leisurely sad and lonely into something faster, more chaotic and angry._

He had only just gotten used to the idea of being an Uncle when the opportunity was snatched from him. Snatched in the blink of an eye, the quick intake of breath all in one bad day.

_The song's tune started to grow loud and raw, like the screech of tires against a sunny street, the laughter of a happy couple cut short and the slamming of breaks. _

In the end Sherlock had no one to blame, no villain to chase after, and nobody to point fingers at. Only the simple malfunction of a traffic light during lunch hour traffic.

Mary had been on the phone pleading with Sherlock to come have lunch with her and John. Did he answer her? Was he going to go? Why was it frustrating that he didn't recall if he had said anything? It didn't matter now, none of it mattered now.

Sherlock would forever remember the warmth of her laughter and Johns mixed together. His mind sometimes paused and replayed those seconds just before the twisting of metal and breaking of glass.

_And the violin's bow was chopping and short, like the sound of crunching and the rolling over of a smashed cab._

This cab carrying three of the four most important lives to Sherlock was about to run what should have been a red light, and it resulted in several lives being lost.

Among them one Mary Watson and the unborn child she carried. Sherlock hated the memories and how his mind palace stored some select details of that horribly bad day.

For example the way he clung to his mobile his hand going sweaty or how the line had gone dead. And his ears started to buzz and his heart along with his world all started to slow then speed up again.

_More quick movements less angry, now more urgent with more pressure applied to the bow as it rolled over the strings sounding like a phone's ringing. _

Mycroft had sounded out of breath? Hesitant? Though the voice on the other end had been steady and cool, thankfully grounding.

Sherlock had left the flat, so quick was his departure that he forgot to shut the door on his way out.

He arrived at the hospital with Mycroft, for once his brother's black car was greeted with welcomed relief. The hospital was filled with faces bruised and injured in this accident. Several injuries, too many for the consulting detective to catalog, it didn't matter they were strangers. None of them were John or Mary.

Then a doctor hailed them, pulling the brother's aside having been notified ahead of time that the two Holmes would be arriving. The hospital staff had moved one body into a private area before readying it for transport to the morgue. Another was rushed into surgery were several highly skilled surgeons worked tirelessly to save a life.

It was then Sherlock learned he would never be an Uncle, and he would never hear Mary's soft teasing laugh again. John, if he lived would need to be told and Sherlock knew it was best to be there when such news was delivered.

_The music took on a slower pace like the lag of a heart beat on a monitor, like the forced breathing of a ventilator and like a man lingering between life and death._

Sherlock's phone was buzzing the ring tone broke through his dark musings and he halted in mid play. The detective put the instrument down gently and reached for his mobile on the music stand were the sheet music from a wedding still resided.

"What is it now?" he managed to sound dismissive of his caller, even when he was whipping the wetness from his cheeks and eyes. Mycroft was calling this indeed was a bad day.

**~0~**

Mycroft Holmes was having a very bad day, and his patience was wearing thin. It was turning into a rather long day one that would most definitely end with an expensive glass of brandy in front of a warming fire.

Then his day took a decidedly bad turn for the worst when the blaring scream of his security alarms suddenly sounded. The British Government quickly reached under his antique oak desk unstrapping a gun he kept hidden for these types of situations. Closing the computer he locked down the information, just as a tall man in an expensive gray suit pushed into his office.

Mycroft could see the corridor just behind the man through his open doors , he counted seven unconscious bodies of his security personnel. No one had been shot, the sound of gunfire was very distinct even in the sound proof areas like this.

The tall man in the expensive gray suit had piercing blue eyes and short military cropped hair. Mycroft Holmes knew the man, he just didn't know why such a man would be there in his office.

"Mr. Holmes, I'm sorry to barge in like this. I however thought it prudent to push through the usual red tape to gain audience with you." The apology was said with a touch of Scottish accent.

"Yes, well you Mr. Bond as your personal file states several times, you are far from reserved when it comes to matters _you_ deem of great importance. Now how can I help you?" Mycroft couldn't hide his irritation and that blasted alarm was wearing on his last nerve.

"Well first off sir, you wont be needing that gun you're holding under your desk. As you can see I'm unarmed. Well rather I'm not brandishing a weapon at you. So I only ask you hear me out and not shoot me."

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow, sitting back in his black leather chair, he sighed heavily.

"Please Mr. Holmes it will only take a minute of your time."

Mycroft waved off the Agents rushing to crowd his doorway, "Will someone shut off that blasted alarm. And shut my door." The Agent he addressed nodded without another word he did as he was directed. That was a credit to the way Mycroft trained his employees. It was but a second later the alarm had halted it's infernal screaming.

"Alright Mr. Bond, I'll give you two minutes before I have you collected and detained."

"Right." The MI6 agent didn't blink at the implied threat. "First here look at this. I've tried to speak to the head of my department but I was told it was nothing." The Scotsman held out a small thumb drive, "One of the minions-I mean techs in Q branch gave this to me."

Mycroft held out his hand for the thumb drive "And the information on this couldn't be shared with-"

"No, I suspect it's an inside job and the individual it pertains to is in the greatest of danger."

Again Mycroft's eye brow arched, sometimes these agents started to get burned out and a little paranoid. It was sad, some of the best MI6 agents England had were put down like stray dogs in the street after going rouge. There wasn't a high retirement rate for these loyal bodies, only an early grave or a firing squad.

"I'm not crazy dammit. Just look at the bloody file!"

Mycroft smiled politely, hitting the silent alarm under his desk, the small button would deliver a quick message to Anthea. Tranquilizers would be needed in Mr. Bond's case, it was the most humane, then perhaps after evaluation they could determine how far gone he was.

This was a bad day if they would be retiring one of her majesties finest, a sad day indeed.

Humoring the Agent Mycroft plugged in the thumb drive, CCTV footage blinked onto his screen. His observant gray eyes narrowed on a thin figure making his way down a somewhat crowded street. He held his breath almost recognizing the mop of dark curls, for a second he thought he was seeing his younger brother.

"He doesn't usually travel the busy streets. This is rare for him, he's usually so hyper vigilant. That and MI6 never lets him go anywhere without a security detail. His job ranks high enough that I'm surprised the dodgy bastards let him out to see the light of day. See look there!"

The agent pointed as a man in a dark hoodie seemed to bump into the thin figure wearing a sensible cardigan, perhaps beige it was hard to tell with the black and white grainy footage. The young man swayed briefly before a tall woman in heels smiled politely steadying him. To the untrained eye it looked as if she were chatting up a handsome young man, smiling invitingly. Her mannerisms could be mistaken for this, her hand lightly on the thin young man's arm as she hailed a cab, he seemed to lean into her. _Seemed_, being the operative word, because Mycroft Holmes was no ordinary person.

The older Holmes could see how the woman's lingering hand remained firmly on the young man's upper arm. She was guiding him, his feet were unsteady. The boy in the cardigan couldn't be more then twenty five, god but he still looked like a teenager. The unmarked cab that pulled up to the curb the woman pulled the younger man in with her, it appeared as if the two were engaging in some type of intimacy.

Mycroft knew this was impossible, because the young man in the footage was the Quartermaster of MI6 as well as his cousin. His young cousin was very much uninterested in female companionship as well as any companionship. Anyway Mycroft always thought the boy leaned more towards male company then female.

"Now, MI6 files show he is officially on a vacation, a scheduled vacation. I spoke to M about this but he's tied up in some kind of political talks something about budgets and what not. His second in command doesn't seem to be concerned, he told me Q requested the time off three days ago, this footage was from yesterday. Q never takes vacation and he would have told me. I returned from my mission last night and he left no messages no note not even a text. "

Mycroft was caught off guard by the Agents concern, it carried a degree of distress, one would assume the two were intimate in some way. If one were to assume and Mycroft Holmes never assumed.

"Don't look at me that way. We aren't in a relationship. He's a friend, my flatmate. Well sort of, I kip on his couch occasionally."

"Occasionally?"

"Alright, I haven't got around to renting a new flat after the whole Skyfall incident MI6 auctioned off and donated my things." Mycroft nodded politely with pretend understanding. "Oh, believe what you will. It is of no matter to me. What matters is Alcott would never have gone off with-"

"Alcott?" Mycroft couldn't hold back his shock, his cousin had given his real name. That was an interesting fact, what was Alcott's relationship to this Agent?

"Yes, he told me his name. And that's how I know about you. He's my friend."

"Alcott doesn't have friends."

This had the Agent's jaw tightening and his shoulder's going stiff, for a moment Mycroft was reminded of another ex soldier.

"He has one." Bond, frowned. "And right now he needs us to find him. I know Al- I mean Q, he would never disappear without leaving me some kind of message. After asking around one of the minions passed this to me. She thought it was confirmation that Q had found some female to go on holiday with. God knows he deserves some time out of the dungeons of Q branch but this wasn't right. He mentioned to me that you were his cousin and under no circumstances was I ever to let anyone know I knew that. Q trusts me, and he seems to hold you and his other cousin in high regard. That's why I've barged in, no one can know why I was here. "

"It will be handled and a very discreet internal investigation will transpire very soon, but for now you will have to forgive me."

"Forgive you?"

"Yes. I will ask you to trust me."

The Agent didn't have a chance to reply before a very soft stepping woman holding a tranquilizer gun as well as her blackberry entered releasing two well aimed shots into the Agent's expensively tailored shoulders.

"I apologize for the delay sir, there were a few bodies cluttering the path here. Shall I cancel your four o'clock?"

"Yes, have Mr. Bond taken to a holding cell. And get me M."

"Yes, sir."

Mycroft waved her off taking out his phone ignoring the bruised security officers coming in to cart away the sedated Agent.

"Brother mine, I hope I wasn't interrupting your melancholy musings."

Mycroft heard his brother's irritated hiss on the other line, well it was nice to see he wasn't the only one having a bad day.

**~0~**

John Watson was having a bad day. Of course a day that started out with a group of heavily armed men invade a MSF medical hospital taking all the Doctors hostage could be rightfully labeled as such. The seemingly quiet man appeared disgustingly calm, it was always the quiet ones, as the saying goes, and John was the quietest of the them all.

The good Doctor almost felt sorry for his captors were pressing him to make a phone call, they wanted him to call his family or a solicitor to arrange a monetary exchange for his safe return. Once he made_** that**_ call he knew his bad day would soon become theirs.


	2. Chapter 2 PHONE HOME

_**CHAPTER 2. PHONE HOME**_

The Colombian thugs held the phone out for John, untying his tightly bound hands.

"You call, you call and tell your family or solicitor we want money for your safe return."

John rubbed his wrists and sighed heavily glancing at the throw away phone, it wasn't anything close to new but it probably served it's purpose. The other hostages watched with terrified eyes he winced hearing the muffled sobs of the younger missionaries. Just kids really, this place was relatively safe, he wouldn't have been relocated here after the incident in Kunduz.

Mycroft really was a high class meddler, the man had made it damn near difficult to be stationed anywhere with the charity organization remotely close to a war zone.

So here Doctor John H. Watson was, in a rural part of Colombia helping educate young mothers on prenatal care, and fixing the breaks and cuts of farmers. Not exactly challenging, he knew this was Mycroft's way of starving John out. The bastard was probably hoping the lack of adventure would have the ex soldier begging to be on the first flight home.

However John wasn't going out without a fight and he was a man of his word, he volunteered his time and this past year had been exactly what he needed. A distraction, London was too painful right now. Here, he had no memories of coffee with Mary, or walking down the streets holding her hand and broken traffic lights.

"You call." The young man with AK growled pressing the phone into John's chest.

"You really don't want me to make that phone call. Once I do I cant guarantee your safety or that of your colleagues here. I think you really should just go."

The young man frowned wondering if he misheard the doctor some how, he shifted from one foot to the other, glancing to their leader for instructions. They spoke in rapid Spanish and then the boy pointed the AK directly at John holding the phone out.

The others in the room gasped and one of the missionaries whimpered.

"Can you not wave that thing around idiot; it's likely to go off. And stop frightening the volunteers. Can you not point a weapon at these people they aren't being paid to be here."

The thug was confused once more, "I have gun, you make call."

John rubbed his stubbly chin making a show of considering doing just that when he replied. "No, probably not."

"For Christ sake Doctor Watson! Make that phone call! " Doctor Kakkar barked. "Are you mad?"

"Puneet-" John sighed "It's going to all be fine."

Doctor Morgan sat in the corner his hands resting on his knees, John wondered why their hostage takers hadn't tied up the older man's wrists like everyone else's. Those sharp blue eyes watched John with a familiar glint of amusement.

Just then the phone in thug number one's hand rang, "Oh, great. It's too late. And I had warned you." John shook his head leaning back into the wall.

The other rebels were confused by the fact their phone was ringing, according to John's translation no one had that number. So thug number two told thug one to answer it.

"Si, un momento." The young man glanced down at Doctor Watson in confusion. "It's for you."

The leader of the group didn't seem happy about that and instead he snatched the mobile from his friend and smashed it. This caused the mobiles belonging to everyone else in the room to ring all at once. Idiots hadn't event taken the phones off the hostages, definitely amateurs.

"I'd answer it if I were you. " John threw his hands up in surrender "From my experience it makes it worse if you make him wait."

"Hello." The leader answered his mobile, John watched the poor kid's face pale as he shakily stated "It is for you." The kid with the red bandana handed his phone off and then went to the window where the blinds had been drawn. He quickly opened the blinds and peered out, to his horror several red dots lined up on his body as well as his friends.

"I'm fine. No harm done, just a bunch of wayward kids looking to make a pound or two. They cant be older than twenty three, boy's really. Are snipers really necessary?" John growled into the phone, several members of staff watched in shock as he started to argue with whoever it was on the other line.

"Yes, yes, I'll come home. I was already planning on it. Well-" Doctor Kakkar watched as the usually soft spoken Doctor Watson argued irritably with possibly a family member? A brother? Yes, Puneet had that same exasperated look on his face when dealing with his own older brother.

"No, don't tell him about this it'll only make him worry needlessly. Besides no one has been hurt. Who? Oh god, how long has he been missing? Sure, of course I'll be packed right away. How's Sherlock taking it? " John moved to the window and waved, the red dots disappearing from their targets. "Yes well, I didn't think he was close to any family members." John chuckled shaking his head hearing Mycroft's irritated reply. "Yes, I forgot. Of course he's more excited about the puzzle. I'm sure he's been driving everyone crazy, I can only wonder at the state of the walls in the flat. Yes, I'll be ready in fifteen minutes. And Mycroft can you please not kill anyone. These kids just need a firm talking to and perhaps jail time. Ta."

John stood up and handed the mobile over to the young man with a red bandana, the red dots reappearing. His friends were nervously staring at the blond doctor.

"He wishes a word." And with that John Watson stepped around the three young men with guns blocking the door. "Excuse me, apparently I have to pack."

Doctor Morgan stood up as well careful not to be near the window, his blue eyes following the short blond Doctor out the door.


	3. Chapter 3 Travel plans

_**CHAPTER 3. Travel plans**_

Q blinked several times, the room was blurry and dimly lit, his head pounded and mouth felt as if he'd swallowed a bucket of sand. Instinctively he moved to adjust his glasses, only to find his hands were bound tightly behind his back, and to his further despair he couldn't move his legs either.

"Oh, look he's waking up." An unfamiliar male voice announced just to his left, causing the young man to flinch. Q heard the slight twinge of an Italian accent.

"Shut it, the boss said we aren't to talk to him." Said a second voice, another faint accent but this time Russian.

"He doesn't look so intimidating." Said the Italian. "Oi!" the first to speak was the one tapping Q roughly on his cheek. "You don't look like you're old enough to be driving let alone head of MI6's Q branch."

Q squinted trying to make out the blurred face nearly nose to nose with him.

"I-I'm not. You must have made a mistake. I-I" Q remembered the protocol, he needed to sound like a scared intern or low level tech.

"Oh, come now Quartermaster we know who you are. No fun in pretending." The Italian laughed, "I've actually been dyeing to meet you. I expected a man, but instead here is a boy. "

Q remained quiet he needed to think, he could rely on the tracker in his shoulder.

"Now, I know what you're thinking Meschino. That your little tracker will keep you safe, but unfortunately this is not the case."

"Stop talking and just do it." The Russian growled.

"Oh, come one. Let me have my fun. I owe the little bastard."

"You heard the boss, you were supposed to cut that thing out of him already."

"I will, I will. Eventually." The Italian smiled "Besides he didn't say I had to be gentle."

Q held back a shudder, his heart starting to pound as his brain calculated all likely outcomes.

"This room is made special to block any signals in or out, so that little chip is completely useless right now while you're here. But we do have to move you so it'll have to go. And we'll have to search you quite thoroughly for any other devices or weapons. It would be a lie for me to say I wont enjoy this."

The Italian chuckled darkly, "Meschino indeed. You know when we took you no one batted an eye. They think you on vacation. By the time they realize you are taken it will be too late. The boss already has several buyers lined up all vying for your head. How sad to be at the top, it's a lonely existence for you having no friends. But good for us. No one will come looking for you. They don't miss you."

Q didn't reply, instead he concentrated on blocking what was to come out, he needed to hang on. It was easy enough to explain away the fact he had gone on vacation if these idiots had someone working inside MI6. Which was very likely, Q knew this was a fact due to these assassins for hire knowing who he was. Q's identity was well protected. For good reason, Q may be young but he could easily topple governments with the flick of his wrist and tap of his fingers.

This was going to hurt, Q thought when the first slice of a knife pierced his shoulder. There was a hope somewhere in the back of his mind that James would notice his absence.

The young Quartermaster closed his eyes, remembering the double O was due back tomorrow, tonight? Q estimated only a day had passed possibly two, he tried to recall the minutes leading up to this.

"Dammit scream!" The Italian growled, forcing Q out of his own mind back into this painful reality.

**_~0~_**

Bond paced like a caged lion, his piercing blue eyes surveyed the area outside the glass box they were keeping him in. He was familiar with such a holding cell, it was similar to the one Silva had been kept in.

This was a waste of time! Q was out there, someone had him! They could be torturing him, the kid wasn't made for field work he wasn't built to waistband the horrors of captivity. Bond knew from experience what it could do to a mind, he was trained and conditioned for interrogation and whatever methods a captor would practice.

Q was fragile with his mess of unkempt curls, his damn dark framed glasses and high cheekbones. The kid had to be reminded to eat and drink for Christ sake! He was a genius sure but he was just a kid.

It was a mistake coming here to this place trying to talk to the great untouchable Mycroft Holmes. James had thought that maybe the notorious_ Iceman_ would help him find Q. The way Q had spoken of his cousin, with a tinge of sadness and respect, James had thought that was something. However he was obviously wrong, perhaps he should have gone to the other brother. Sherlock, the consulting detective might have been the better choice.

The secret agent scowled at the glass walls of his cage, if there was a bed or a chair in this room he'd of kicked it or sent it flying at the wall. He wanted to hit something and hit it hard.

He should have gone to Sherlock, the man was a smug bastard but he was good. Bond had worked with him on a few assignments during the detectives great 'hiatus'. The double O could see such a strong resemblance between Q and Sherlock, perhaps that's why he was able to put up with the arrogant prick.

The sound of an alarm pierced the air and the lights blinked on and off briefly, the double O agent tensed instinctively. As if his day couldn't get any worse.

"Hang on Q, I'll find you." The man vowed through clinched teeth, oh yes he would find his friend and he would personally see all those involved in this bloodied and dead at his feet.

**_~0~_**

John checked his ticket and frowned slightly realizing he would be leaving the warm weather of Columbia for the cooler climate of London. Someone bumped into him, "Sorry." The young man apologized and John quickly checked for his wallet, sighing in relief when he found it.

He almost laughed at himself for thinking so poorly of people, but living with the great genius and unapologetic pick pocket Sherlock Holmes Johncouldn't help it.

He moved towards the line for boarding passing through a metal detector, the sound of the alarm brought several armed airport security officials towards him. "Not again." John cursed.

"This way." A man in a blue security uniform barked taking his arm and another took his bag leading him out of sight.

John could laugh recalling how it was fitting that his trip home would be this way, after all when he left England almost a year ago it had started the same way.

Just as before, Mycroft's men ironed out the details, the gun they found in his bag turned out to be a fake. Someone's idea of a prank. John wondered how Sherlock managed it this time, he almost called the bastard just to ask, but decided he wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Still it was impressive.

**_~0~_**

Doctor Morgan observed two of the airport's security men apologizing for the inconvenience and offering to usher the blond Doctor to the front of the line for boarding. John shook his head, and waved them off irratably.

"Damn that man." Morgan hadn't wanted it to go this way, in fact he was trying to avoid this all together but it was going to happen no matter what.

**_~0~_**

John wanted to scream when he found out the damn flight was delayed, he had just enough time to get something to eat. Except he never made it to the small food court, the last thing he remembered was being shoved hard into the mens room.

Instincts of a soldier and being the companion of a criminal chasing detective allowed him to land several punches to his attackers before the sharp pinch of a needle to the back of his neck had him losing consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4 Misconception

Doctor Morgan managed to avoid the sight of ever CCTV in town, but it wasn't as easy as he remembered. "I'm getting to old for this." He hissed, hailing a cab he managed to keep his head down and the tourist cap on his head bearing the union jack shadowed his face.

"Where to?" The cabbie asked politely and Morgan gave an address he thought he'd never give again. He needed to do this and he had only one chance, however after the last twenty four hours he just had, he was confident that it was possible.

He glanced at his mobile, the live feed showed a still unconscious Doctor Watson.

"It's the price you pay for getting involved with a Holmes." The doctor's American accent fell away.

He had the cabbie drop him off two blocks away from the Diogenes club, Mycroft most certainly was here, and maybe even Sherlock. If the famous consulting detective truly cared for his Doctor friend like everyone seemed to think then that's were he would be, it was a funny thought. The older man stuffed his hands into the black hoodie he was wearing keeping to the edges of the buildings still out of sight of the CCTV.

The Doctor thought of Sherlock Holmes actually going to Mycroft for help, the two would have received the very alarming text. Mycroft knew enough informants that one would have let this little kidnapping of a certain blond doctor slip out.

Information was power when it came to Mycroft Holmes and that bit of info he would more than likely offer a great deal for. Doctor Morgan wondered over this revelation, since meeting John Watson he wondered what exactly the Holmes brothers saw in the ordinary man.

There was nothing John Watson a former soldier could give the spoiled Sherlock Holmes or the cynical Mycroft. The veteran had no money, no family connections he was smart but not a genius.

After spending a few months with Doctor Watson in Columbia the graying older man could see that John H. Watson was a good man. He was loyal, brave and ordinary. He wore brown jumpers, and drank tea without sugar, he smiled with his eyes and though the man was soft spoken and often quiet in no way was he a pushover or a coward.

He was a good man, and the older doctor/soldier had thought that such men were no longer in existence. It was unfair that such a man would lose so much because of his ill placed loyalty and friendship.

John Watson lost his wife and child because he chose to befriend a spoiled, entitled trust fund brat, an addict that had a power hungry older brother watching over him. Cleaning up and forever covering up the younger Holmesin discretions and mistakes.

The good Doctorhad written the romanticized version of the so called famous consulting detectives faked death and return. Hell you would need to be living under a rock to miss that bit of sensationalized rubbish. And then there was Doctor Watson's blog, Morgan refused to read whatever sentimentalized scribbles the poor misguided man would have lain out.

John Watson would only see the good in people and easily forgive the bad. Morgan caught that right off, the man was a bloody saint and it was almost disgusting. The poor idiot had been taken in by the reckless supposed ex addict, if one could ever be an ex drug addict and the most disturbing bit was the good Doctor had faith in Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft Holmes trusted no one and would turn anyone into a damn asset, only to toss them aside once their usefulness had proven ineffectual. The notorious Ice Man was no doubt keeping John Watson alive and healthy because he was the glorified babysitter for the wayward little brother. The sick thing was that John couldn't see the forest for the trees.

The older man patted the weapon in his pocket, he loathed to attend this reunion but he might as well say his peace. He wondered just how much leverage he could fain, not John. Mycroft would write the army surgeon off easily, just another casualty to war. Sherlock would be put out and need to find a newer plaything to entertain him. No, Morgan had old intel he could use, but he first needed to use some of Mycroft's resources. He needed to talk to Q, the little bastard wasn't answering his mobile and he promised to call two nights ago. Something was wrong.

Slipping into the Diogenes was easy almost too much so, the old soldier crept down the hall, finding no resistance, it was late after all. He found the office that just had to be Mycroft's, it screamed posh and pompous. He had remodeled since the last time the graying red haired man had been in. Entering he went straight to the mini bar pouring himself a much deserved glass of scotch.

He could hear arguing and approaching feet, the tall man in the black hoodie and blue and red baseball cap remained seated as the two Holmes brothers entered.

"It's been nearly 48 hours Mycroft! Your people have nothing! Nothing! No answers! Just the footage from the airport and that damn text."

Sherlock started to pace, "He could be anywhere by now. He could be injured or-" Sherlock swallowed back his running thoughts.

Mycroft shut the door to his office, "Little brother I've told you the corridors aren't the place for this conversation."

"Right, wouldn't want to be overheard now." The tall graying man remained seated sipping the expensive scotch.

Mycroft and Sherlock turned eyes narrowing on the figure sitting smugly in the high wing backed red chair.

"Brothers, you look as if you've seen a ghost."

**~0~**

"Now Quartermaster. What we want to know is what exactly have you been telling Doctor Watson?"

Q blinked back the tears that had hazed his already blurred vision, his face throbbed, and his ribs ached every time he took a breath. "Come on kid, we know you were in constant contact with him while he was in Colombia. "

Q, winced spiting out the blood pooling in his mouth, "Who?"

"John Watson. Don't pretend to be a fool Q it doesn't become you. We all know you've been in constant contact with Doctor Watson for the past couple of months. We have been monitoring your communications."

"If that were so you would know I wasn't in contact with Doctor Watson."

"Lies!" Q was ready for the Italian's heavy fist to catch him hard on the left side of his face. Jaw throbbing, head pounding and his hands were tied tightly against his back. "Now! Tell me, once more. What did you tell him? Did you bring him the insane little theories you've come up with?"

Q didn't answer he only continued to struggle with breathing.

"No matter Meschino, dearest Doctor Watson will be joining us very soon. My boss has sent two of his best to retrieve him. And then we will get out of him what you withhold. If not at least the boss says I can have more fun with him. Apparently we have to keep you alive. There are several buyers interested in you and your skills."


	5. Chapter 5 Surprise

Sherrinford didn't rise from the comfortable chair he sat in, he attempted to take a drink from the expensive tumbler but halted his actions. He had given up drinking for her, given up a lot of things, all for her and now she was gone.

He'd come to understand three years ago he just wasn't allowed to be happy, he was a monster trying to live among the angels. And goddammit all!

He had for a few years managed to beat back his darkness, managed to be a man she wanted and a father. Only for it all to be snatched away, and here he was again in his native land among the people that hated him and the brothers who would never know him.

He knew them well enough to wonder if he ever truly had known them. If that made any sense. The Holmes brothers were never really close.

He knew that Mycroft was once shy and he used the guise of disinterest and smug superiority to keep himself separated from the rest of he tried and failed so many times to gain father's approval.

Sentiment was not an advantage, Sherrinford had taught his brother that hard lesson too long ago. Probobly the last lesson he ever taught his brother, a rule that Sherrinford Holmes had thought he would never betray.

Then there was the spoiled baby brother, so entitled and used to having his damn way. He was a genius for sure, so curious and without a filter. This made him an easy target for bullies, the youngest Holmes wasn't able to hold back when he spoke.

If only mother would have stopped indulging the little brat perhaps he could have been saved. Although looking at him now he almost seemed healthy, he was lean but not thin, and the color to him wasn't sickly. For a moment Sherrinford could see a little of what John had described.

Doctor Watson wasn't a fool, no Sherrinford had come to admire the younger man. He had entertained some of the volunteers and missionaries with stories and the ever vexing antics of his flatmate and friend. Sherrinford of course hadn't believed it at the time and refused to sit and listen to Doctor Watson's skewed perception.

Looking at the youngest Holmes now, Sherrinford wondered if he had been wrong about that. Then he remembered Mycroft's words from all those years earlier, perhaps they had some truth to them. Maybe all Sherlock needed was someone to relate to.

Speaking of the youngest Holmes, the graying older brother held back a laugh. The curly haired brother was looking like an idiot with his mouth open.

Then there were the dark rings under those gray eyes, rings that didn't speak of nights shooting up but rather sleeplessness.

The last time Sherrinford had seen his little brother was when the kid was fifteen detoxing after a particularly bad overdose. Mycroft had made excuses, always being the go between trying to translate Sherlock's eccentricities to their parents.

Sherrinford had come off a particularly long mission and wasn't in the mood, the kid needed a damn thrashing. Father was at his end, and Sherrinford suggested as much, as well as cutting the little bastard off from any funds. Mycroft argued that wouldn't help, that their little brother needed rehab.

The elder Holmes brother knew a lost cause, and Sherlock had already broken out of three and the other two he had pretended treatment was working only to go right back to shooting up. Sherrinford was young and dealing with the pressures of being a double o, it had made him hard in a way that Mycroft didn't understand.

"If he could just make some friends." Mycroft had cringed when his voice had shaken.

Sherrinford laughed as did father, "He's a damn Holmes we don't need friends, we need assets! We need resources, people aren't meant to be confidants, they are pawns. Goldfish in a damn bowl are pets, no more." Sherrinford scoffed at his ginger haired brother.

Mycroft had slapped the glass of Scottish whiskey from his brother's hands. "You don't understand Sherlock."

"What's there to understand Mykie? Both of you are soft, how do you expect to get anywhere in a political arena when your damn little brother is a drug addict. He'll fail out of school. He needs to learn to assimilate, and at least act normal. And you do that again to my drink and I'll break your arm. I'm not in the mood." The eldest Holmes took a dangerous step closer to his brother not yet as tall as him but almost. He expected Mycroft to take a step back but to his surprise the ginger haired brother did no such thing.

"He's an embarrassment. Mycroft. I agree with Sherrinford. He'll ruin us all."

"Father, he's sick-" The middle Holmes turned from the challenging glare of his brother to his father. The younger man wore a grey suit and blue silk tie, he pulled on the sides of the jacket.

"Mycroft always the diplomat." Sherrinford laughed. "Going to fix him then little brother?"

"Mummy will be upset." Now that was a low blow, he was getting desperate.

"Mummy will be upset." Sherrinford mimicked his brother rolling his eyes moving to stand next to his father. "She's out of the country on some book tour."

"He'll have one last chance. He finishes this rehab and then a year of counseling if he relapses that's it. He's cut off. I wont have a son of mine wasting his genius on drugs and whatever it is that he's up to."

"He'll fail." Sherrinford poured a healthy glass of scotch.

"Yes, that he will. But at least we can tell your mother we tried. And we'll wait to give her news of this recent relapse when she returns."

Mycroft remained still turning his back on the two men discussing the younger Holmes as if he were a dog needing to be put down.

"You're too soft Mycroft. One day you'll learn that sentiment isn't an advantage." Father's words were spoken with his usual cold condescension. A tone that Mycroft would come to perfect years later.

Sherrinford pulled out of his memories, taking in the sight of his two brothers. Of course the middle Holmes was first to recover from the shock of seeing Sherrinford.

"Surprise, not dead." The elder Holmes put the glass down on the table next to his chair not bothering with a coaster. Scotch hadn't been his thing anyway, he could give in to that particular demon after this meeting.

"Don't do it brother. The moment you hit the silent alarm, you'll find me less cooperative."

"So why are you here Sherrinford? Come to finish the job you failed at so long ago?"

The eldest Holmes didn't miss the way Sherlock moved closer to the British Government. Well that was a turn up? These two had grown close over the years? Of course, Mycroft was always babying the youngest brat.

There was something else in the way Sherlock was looking at him, his familiar gray eyes ran over Sherrinford with an uncomfortable intensity he had to bite back the urge to squirm.

Still there was a coldness in those gray eyes, and Sherrinford knew it well, it was the same he found in himself when looking in the mirror.

"Oh, Mykie, little brother, you think to much of yourself. You were the first contract I ever failed at." _Elise was the second. _

"Then what do you want? Why are you back? "

"And why aren't you dead?" Sherlock added.

"I need some information and you're going to give it to me." Sherrinford stood now ignoring his youngest brother and the signature eye roll.

"You seem confident in your beliefs." Mycroft lifted an eye brow.

"Yes, well. I have some information that you will find useful. We could trade. Besides it's nothing of importance. I just wish to reconnect with someone. And I cant seem to get him on the phone. I was wondering if you could just dial up to MI6 and have him delivered here for a family reunion. I would do it myself but it seems being dead and all it would cause quite the stir among my old colleagues."

"That and the fact that you are a traitor that went rouge and tried to kill your own brother, wouldn't make them a bit apprehensive either."

"Oh, please Sherlock you're just jealous. I actually managed to get close and nearly did what you've only ever dreamed of." Sherlock took an angry step forward but Mycroft halted him with a mere lifting of his hand.

Interesting again. "I'm in no mood for this! We have work to do Mycroft. I cant just sit around. Have your men arrest and torture him so we can get on with more important matters."

"Come on now. Don't be that way. And don't you have somewhere to be some little crime to solve? Or some back alley to OD in? Let the adults talk Sherly."

Mycroft stepped between his brothers, "He's right." Mycroft snapped. "We don't have the patience or the time. So tell me what it is you want, I'll politely decline and I'll have my men escort you to a very comfortable cell."

"Why not just have them shoot him right here. Any intel he has would be compromised. Let me shoot him Mycroft."

"Sherlock, the carpet. We've had this discussion. Besides what would Doctor Watson say if he returned and finds that I've let you murder another man, let alone your own brother-"

"You wouldn't tell him. Because then you would explain to him why you neglected to inform him of the existence of another Holmes brother. He gets so touchy about these kinds of things."

"Yes, that he does." Mycroft sighed.

"We are wasting time! John can be anywhere by now. Just kill him and be done. I'll buy you a new carpet."

Sherrinford didn't know how he felt about the two discussing his death as if he were a dog to be put down. However he had an opening and decided to run with it.

"Ah, the good Doctor Watson. He does have a firm right hook doesn't he. For a man who dresses in brown jumpers I wouldn't expect him to have such a temper." Sherrinford caught the change in both his brothers, Mycroft's face was expressionless but there was a slight hardening to his jaw, Sherlock on the other hand didn't hide his sudden anger/worry at the mention of John's name.

"Where is he?" Sherlock growled stepping closer hands in the pockets of his ridiculous bellstaff coat. When did he exchange the leather jacket and hoodie for this over dramatic monstrosity? At least he had taken to wearing the expensive suits.

"He's in a safe place. Now-"

"Prove it." Sherrlock snapped. "I want proof of life."

"Oh, Sherlock. Sentiment? I thought Mycroft would have taught you better by now."

"Sherlock." Mycroft warned.

"Listen to your big brother. He knows how to negotiate. Why don't you go get yourself some warm milk and-"

Sherrinford knew he was pressing buttons but he wanted to see everyone's cards. And though he expected a reaction he didn't expect his youngest brother to pull out a service pistol, a browning of all things.

"Show me proof of life. I am not in the mood."

Mycroft sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Little help here." Sherrinford crossed his arms over his chest, Mycroft didn't reply instead he went to pour himself a drink.

"Alright, fine, here." Sherrinford slowly reached into his pocket and withdrew his mobile he clicked on the live feed of John Watson still slumbering away peacefully in the room he had him locked safely away in.

His brother held the gun steadily and continued but his eyes went to the screen. The eldest Holmes read something in that quick glance, he filed it away for later contemplation.

"It's a live feed. He's fine. Just a little jet lagged or drugged who's to say. Now that we have our hands out on the table, here's what I want. I need to speak to our dear cousin Alcott, I figure he's busy and I cant reach him so I would appreciate it-"

"What do you want with him?" Mycroft asked in his unconcerned tone.

"That's my business."

"It will take a bit of time to-"

"Don't bullshit me. Just ring up the damn Quartermaster. I'm sure you have him on speed dial. I need to talk to him and I need to do it without the suspicion of my former colleagues."

"Why are you so certain he'll wish to speak to you. I doubt he even knows who you are."

"Again that's my business Mycroft. Just get on the phone-"

"And if I don't?" Mycroft downed the last bit of his drink.

"Then I guess the loyal dog wont make it home after all. Tragic, I guess I can put him down humanly."

"I'll kill you."

"You don't have it in you brother." Sherrinford narrowed his eyes on the younger brother.

"You have no idea of what I'm capable of. I will not make this quick and I wont go easy on you. Now, where is he?"

" Who are you working for this time Sherry?"

"Let's just say a very pissed off party. Now. I wont ask again. I'll have him terminated right now. The men I have guarding-"

"Shut up." Sherlock hissed, still holding the browning directly on his eldest brother. "You're lying. "You're working alone."

"Am I? I'll give you some time to think on this. Four hours I'll contact you and we can make a trade off. I don't expect to see Q in person but I do expect a number to reach him on a secure line. Wouldn't want MI6 to catch wind that he's talking to a criminal. It'll look bad on us all I'm sure."

"Sherlock let him go. I'm sure our brother can be true to his word. We'll in fact have the information exchanged at a place of Sherrinford's choosing. I'll have one of my most trusted operatives deliver the message.

Sherrinford narrowed his eyes, that was almost too easy, "Don't follow me or I'll have to do something you would regret." The ex double O left the room leaving his drink untouched.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock tried to pull out of his brother's grip.

"Let him go. We'll handle this. We know John's in London, and in a safe location. It's better than the inside of a trunk we originally saw him in. Besides I know just the man to deliver our message. "

"Q is missing." Sherlock hissed.

"Yes and he doesn't know that. But what bothers me is he knows that our cousin works for MI6, something that not even you knew until three years ago. I want to know how he has obtained this knowledge and why he wants so badly to speak to our cousin. I know just the double O who would also be interested in acquiring this information."


End file.
